


Alleviation

by Enteii_Azure



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7191428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enteii_Azure/pseuds/Enteii_Azure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments before the men cloaked in gold had seized her, she had been found in the Godswood, sobbing deeply underneath one of the oaks. Her Florian, Ser Dontos had not come, though he had promised to sweep her out from the hold the Lannisters had and away from Kings Landing. Sansa was alone, scared and knew she may be punished for the crime of regicide. </p>
<p>Although, not the punishment she would have expected. She is given to an unlikely man under strict rule that she may not leave Kings Landing until the Hand of the King decides her fate. </p>
<p>Alternate Events - Sansa never left Kings Landing after the events of the Purple Wedding due to the mysterious disappearance of Dontos. The realm now stews with the loss of its cruel boy king and is now ruled by his Grandfather, Twyin Lannister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alleviation

They had found her in the Godswood, sobbing deeply underneath one of the oaks.  
  
Betrayal had become all too familiar, again. Moments before the men cloaked in gold had seized her, she’d taken the fine piece of silver from her hair. Her Florian, Dontos had given her the net the last time they had met.  
  
_“Wear this to the wedding my lady – it contains fine gems from Asshai, that wield magic to bring every one of your heart’s desire to life.”  
  
_ She studied it with teary eyes, a sudden wave of terror and dread washed over her. After the execution of her father and the murder of her mother and older brother, she could scarcely think of a day she had not wished an ill death upon Joffrey. But simply wishing death on someone cannot make it so.   
_Could it?_ She turned the object over in her palm, _Could it have the power to take the life from a cruel King? No-No! You stupid girl there is no such thing as magic. It’s merely a silly trinket-  
  
_ The shuffle of metal and chains ripped her from her thoughts. In the distance, the glow of fire made its way closer; torches, and a voice came over the woods.  
  
“Find her!”  
  
She knew the voice that barked, it was the Kingslayer himself, Jaime Lannister.  
  
“She must be here! Find her – your Queen has commanded it!”  
  
A desperate fear took hold of her, before she could realize - her hands dug frantically at the ground below her. She had not understood but her instincts told her _Bury it… Bury it!_  
And so she did, her fingers raked and tore at the rock and dirt until they met with a shallow root. She took in one last glance then threw the ornament down and covered it with a mound. With extra precaution she padded the dirt, making it as natural looking as possible.  
  
_What will they do with me? They will think I’ve done it – I killed Joffrey._ The voices grew closer and the clang of steel pounded in her head. _They will think I tried to escape._ Her heart pounded, she struggled to catch her breath between sobs.  
  
_A lie – anything.  
  
_ Anything but what had been the truth; that a fool knight conspired to take the prisoner Stark girl out of Kings Landing.  
Leaves rustled near her, she turned to look when an angry pair of emerald eyes met hers. A large hand gripped her shoulder and roughly pulled her to her feet.   
                                                                                                   

* * *

 

      
  
      The small cell had embraced her with its icy and shadowy fingers. She shivered and brought her knees closer to her chest. It was all she could do to keep warm. Crumpled up in the corner like a forgotten piece of parchment. Nothing but stone surrounded her, and it was always moist. There was a draft, every now and again, it would come to bite at her limbs and face. She shivered once more.  
       A faint light danced under the gate that held her. It was that light, which taunted and tortured her. The pale glow meant the presence of gaolers opposite the gate, standing post. Once she had begged the man through the door for a quilt to stave off her shaking.  
  
The plea had been met with a violent shove on the door, “QUIET!”  
  
She hadn’t’ asked again.  
  
Her shoes had been lost when they dragged her down the long shaft of stairs into the cells. The girl would go on to shred pieces of her garment; and wrap them around her feet and hands. Her dress did little to keep her warm and no alternative garment was provided. She had been forced to wear the same dress; which had gotten splashed with mud, torn and carried an un-savory odor for -  
  
_Days… ?  
  
_ She guessed - time had begun to have no meaning down in this cell. There was no way to tell how long she had been caged. The sun nor the moon reached down here. She scolded herself for not changing into the clothes she had hidden away in the oak tree that day.  
  
_That day.  
  
_ Familiar tears swelled in her eyes. In her mind she had visited that day – over and over again. Each time bringing more weight to her heart.  
  
**Come to the Godswood tonight if you want to go home.  
  
** The words swirled in her head, it took all she had not to scream. Those words had been etched in ink so carefully and passed onto her, a tangible feeling of hope. Her thoughts were deafening, all questions to which none had answers. Again, the words fell silently from her mouth; yet here she was, unable to understand.  
  
_I did – I did what was asked of me. What I was told.  
  
_ But her knight did not come. He had not come when she had sank to the cold ground in defeat. When she had clasped her hands, lowered her head… _he had not come._ When the tears sprang from her eyes, interrupting her prayer… _he had not come._ The bells still rang, louder and louder, each time filling the city with a sorrowful tune. They rang a song of mourning, but they did not ring for her.  
  
 Her Florian never came.    
                                                                                                                                                     
                                                                                       

* * *

  
  
  
**_‘clink.. clink-clink… clink’_**  
  
She heard it again. Outside her cell, came the noises of a busy realm. Several muffled voice came over the silence now, their words couldn’t be understood. Then once more, the shackles – **_‘clink… clink-clink… clink’_**  
The metal grinded and dug on the floor as the bearer shuffled along. The shackles clasped around uneven feet or weak legs, which gave to one side. Sansa surmised that possibly, in a nearby cell housed an old man with a limp or mutation.  
  
_Their cruelty cannot be measured_.  
  
Even in her current state, she couldn’t help but feel for the other creatures being held down here. That man they drug out now, had been called upon many times in the last few days. When sleep was evading her, often she would hear him.  
  
**_‘clink… clink-clink… clink’_**  
  
They had spared her the shackles, of that she could be grateful at least.  
  
_I would thank my nobility and House name for that…_ _but – They had put chains on Father and put him below, in the black cells.  
  
_ More footsteps came, more men in cloaks and armor. She breathed a sigh of relief, she knew she would not be graced with the pleasure of company. They had taken everything from her above ground, they weren’t satisfied with her answers then – and they wouldn’t be now. During her interrogation, Tywin Lannister had been the one attending to her questioning. Her tears and cries of innocence did little to affect him, he continued to give her an aggressive licking. It was the first time she had been forced to speak directly to him. He had frightened her so much, blue darted away - avoiding catching her eyes with his. They were a hateful shade of green, and Sansa swore she had seen the flint of gold in them making his stare all the more intense.    
  
The slinking and whine of metal grew fainter, yet a pair of footsteps remained outside. Her cell door swung open, releasing a blinding wave of light. Immediately Sansa drew a hand to shield her squinted eyes.  
  
_Who is it? What do they want?  
_  
While her eyes took a moment to adjust, a slim, proud figure stood before her. A voice spoke to her and her blood froze.  
   
“Hello Little-dove.”  
  
_Please no…_ Sansa begged, lifting her sore eyes up, _Not her. Give me silence – I’d speak to myself first, make them believe they have broken me and shattered my wits… before I’d want to see her.  
  
_ “It’s quite cold down here isn’t it? Colder than I remember… I’d have one of the guards bring you a quilt, would you like that Little-dove?”  
  
Sansa knew there was no sincerity in her words. Before her stood Cersei Lannister, in all her callous beauty. She was covered in a green silk dress, trimmed with subtle gold stitching – her mocking green eyes sparkled. Her golden tousles fell around her shoulders and a small crown lay meticulously on top. Cersei always looked striking, and Sansa hated it. She knew how to use what little skin she shown and left the rest to her company’s imagination. Cersei stood shoulders squared, her posture perfected by years of living under a proud name. Before now, she had regarded Sansa as below her, a meaningless existence at her feet. What must she think now? Sansa didn’t think she could fall lower now. Her green eyes beamed down, her nose wrinkled in disgust.  
  
“How are you, my dear Sansa?” The hem of her gown swayed as she took another step into the cell. “You seem frail, your delicate porcelain skin has lost its shine… I suppose a cage such as this has taken its toll.”  
  
No answer came from the poor girl that sat at her feet.  
  
_I am covered in filth and grime and- and the unspeakable, yet she still sees to mocking me?  
_  
When Sansa did not respond to her jab, the Queen clicked her teeth in amusement.  
  
“I’ve brought you a gift.” She turned and motioned, “Give it to the girl.”  
  
A man was standing behind Cersei, she had not noticed him. The light that came from the corridor still blinded her. There was a **_‘thud’_**.  
  
_He’s thrown something to me…. But what? A dagger – do they wish me to take my own life?  
_  
Sansa mulled over that thought for a moment, but the sound the object made hitting the ground wasn’t that of a metallic object, it was much lighter and softer.  
  
“I thought today – of all days, you could use a drink.”  
  
Sansa regarded the object, then looked up at Cersei with a questioning stare.  
  
“A day to celebrate – or in your case… repent.” Cersei smiled in delight, “Has no one told you, truly?  
  
Sansa hated the games people had played with her. Ever since she arrived in Kings Landing, the Stark girl had become everyone’s play thing. Especially Cersei and Joffrey.  
  
“Told me what?” She answered meekly.  
  
“Your treacherous-worm of a husband, is to confess today-“  
  
_Tyrion?_ A wave of shock washed over Sansa, _Tyrion killed Joffrey? It can’t be-he wouldn’t._  
  
During their time together, Tyrion did not hide his disdain for his nephew, it was one perhaps the only sentiment they shared. He had taken too many jabs from the King- much like herself. Could the entertaining dwarves at the wedding been the last straw? If so -  
  
_How? He was forced to be Joffrey’s cup bearer and… Tyrion!_ Suddenly it all came to her, it hadn’t been an old man that shared the cells below with her. That poor creature that was kept him in chains and shackles had been her husband.  
  
Her thoughts paused for a moment taking in that revelation. Did he deserve her pity now? He whom if the accusations come to ring true, was the reason she was down here to begin with. _  
_  
“His crime – and yours.”  
  
That harshly snapped her back, out of her thoughts, “M-my w-what?”  
  
“Your role in my son’s - King Joffrey’s murder.”  
  
“But I didn’t- I didn’t know!” Her breathed quickened uncontrollably, “And he can’t say that I did, It’s a lie!” The words fell from her lips faster than she would have liked. Tears swelled around her blue eyes.  
  
“He will say otherwise, he will confess and Father has been foolish enough to allow him to take the Black. However you Little-Dove…” Cersei gorged in the horror that spread across her face, “Well… there are no alternatives, even for high-borne ladies. Your pretty little head will be the most regretted that Ser Ilyn Payne has taken.”  
  
Sansa felt as if her heart had dropped to the cold stone underneath her.  
  
“Unless-” Cersei started, she leaned forward and spoke in a whisper, “Unless you confide in me now, swear it was the doing of that savage imp. It was wasn’t it? Why you loved Joffrey and detest gruesome violence.”  
  
She continued, “Now, just say he instrumented everything- against your will and that’s why you fled the castle. You feared for your life. Come now child, the truth. I will convince Father to leave your pretty head on those shoulders.”  
  
_She is trying to manipulate me. She wants me to admit that I knew of this-but I didn’t and she won’t listen to any of it._  
  
If there had been anything in her stomach, she could have wretched. Her father had been promised such a deal. In the end it was the Lannister’s that went back on it, they took his honor and his head. As if called for, a voice echoed in her mind _be strong love._ It had been the voice of her father, still warm and encouraging.  
  
_I must be going mad at last…  
_  
She had wondered how long her sanity would hold against this place.  
  
_I will not give her… Her or her wicked family the satisfaction of having broken me. I will die before I play this game they’re so fond of…_  
  
Sansa took a deep breath and wiped the tears away with dirty palms. The word of Cersei Lannister could not save her, nor anything else. This was a trick, another game and she would not in part of it. Her visitor grew impatient, wanting a response – Sansa took another deep breath and answered.  
  
“I had no part or knowledge in the events that lead to the King’s death.” Sansa drew any remaining strength that her cage hadn’t stripped her of. “Tyrion and I- Our marriage was an embarrassment for the both of us. It was loveless and dishonest- I never let him touch me or share my bed. If he had planned to murder Joffrey he wouldn’t have trusted me enough to tell me.”  
  
It wasn’t a lie, Sansa had never felt warm feelings towards her husband of Lannister – and trusted him no more than he trusted her.  
  
“I went to the Godswoods to pray for King Joffrey.” She wouldn’t tell her whole truth. She would not mention her Florian, her false knight.  
  
A flicker of annoyance flared within the Queens eyes. She concealed it quickly and returned to her regal demeanor.  
  
“Of course you did.”  
  
Sansa was ready to be free of her presence. The sinking sensation in her stomach remained. Although this was the first time Sansa had a visitor, the experience was becoming more than she could bear.  
  
“Will that be all, your Grace?”  
  
“Yes Little-dove.” Cersei turned to leave. A smirk crept to her lips, something wicked had crossed her mind. The Queen turned back suddenly, under the frame of the cell door.  
  
“Perhaps I will convince Father to leave you to a … better fitting punishment for such a pretty thing as yourself.”  
  
The girl raised her eyes again to meet Cersei’s.  
  
“We could use a change for once… After all you Starks have made an art of losing your heads.”  
  
Venom dripped from every word, “Perhaps I shall meet with Father and bring him a business proposition. Seeing as you are a woman blossoming but not yet de-flowered… We will put you in the nearest brothel. Men will flock from across the Seven Kingdoms to prick the flower of the last Stark girl. Imagine all the gold dragons you’ll bring in to the city. That cunt of yours will become the highest paid and most sought out in all of Kings Landing.” A laugh escaped Cersei’s lips, feeling a sense of victory she strode from the cell.  
  
“Perhaps in time, you’ll work up the status to be in Lord Baelish’s brothel.”  
   
With that the cell door slammed behind. All the courage Sansa had summoned left her, dropping her head to her knees in defeat.  She wept softly in the dark.    
  
                                                                                           

* * *

  
  
      The scent permeated the cell door, it was familiar, warm and welcoming. She breathed it in deeply. Through her dry, cracked lips her mouth began to water. Not since the feast at the wedding had she experienced warm solid food.  
       A bowl containing a slop of liquid and lumps was passed through the mechanism at the bottom of the door regularly. The first time she had experienced it, when her stomach writhed with hunger. She had learned the contents of the bowl was not something her belly would easily accommodate. She wretched, leaving a foul reminder just left of the cell door.  
     A foolish hope filled her being. _That is fresh bread_ Sansa mused.  
  
“H-hello?” She shuddered, the words caught in her dry throat.  
  
The only answer that came was a **_‘click’_** of a latch, the slit opened and a small wrapped bundle of fabric hit the floor with a quiet ‘thud’. Without a word, it closed shut.  
Weakly Sansa crawled to it, placed it in her lap and un-folded the mound. Tears fell from her cheeks as she revealed her ‘gift’. A loaf of warm bread, _freshly baked_ , a skin of water and the fabric it had been wrapped in was enough to serve as a blanket.  
  
She clutched the bundle to her chest, “Thank you.” She whispered in a cracked tone.   
  
This was the first time in a great while, that Sansa had felt anything but misery.  
  
“Truly… a kind gesture.”  
  
No response came from the other side. She was unaware if they had been able to hear her. However, she did know that either someone felt pity for her or that someone outside this hell, was looking after her. Maybe her real knight was coming to break her out of these bars and steal her away to safety. Someone who would finally take her away from this cursed town and would take her far to the east across the seas. Where Sansa Stark no longer existed, she would take on a new name and a new life. The wife of an exotic merchant, the lover of a mysterious sailor – the possibilities were endless once she could escape these four walls.  
  
Maybe that was just another childish dream from a naive girl.  
                                                                                                      

* * *

  
  
The echoes of the shackles did not return that day. There was an eerie silence, she could hear her own heart pounding in her chest. Tyrion had not returned.  
  
_He’s taken what had been offered…_  
  
At one time, Sansa had considered Tyrion kind. He was the only person that defended her when Joffrey would humiliate her at court. He hadn’t forced himself on her like other men would have. Nor had he took a hand to her – at all.  
However, he was still a Lannister. They would have sent him on his way to Castle Black by now. A small sentiment of salvation, and all it cost him was hers. They would come for the girl next, to end it.  
  
                                                                                                     

* * *

  
  
“Rise Stark-“  
  
She awake all at once, light flooded the room. The door to her cell had been opened and a masculine figure stood above her. Startled, Sansa rose to her feet as quickly as she could, using the wall for balance. Her legs were weak and nearly stumbled to the ground.  
  
“With me now – easy.” The voice was firm, it had not belong to the jailer that sat outside guarding her. Donned in armor and a pristine white cloak stood the Kingslayer.  
  
“We’re to have you cleaned up and brought to court. The Hand wishes to have an audience with you.”  
  
                                                                                                     

* * *

  
Although it had all been a blur to her, The Kingslayer did what he had promised. He saw to it that two handmaidens drew her a bath. They had scrubbed the dirt and grime from her body, leaving no trace of the cell with her, though only in appearance of course. Her flesh was firmly pink and sore from the bath. The women tended to washing and styling her hair, a simple maiden’s braid. The color had returned and was once more aflame in Tully red.  
  
They threw her soiled garment to the side, instead fit her in a thin shift and laced her into a corset. Next, over her head they pulled a simple dress woven in silk. The color was a bland dark beige, with white and gold stitching around the bodice. When she was younger, Sansa would have turned her nose up at such a dress, but not today. It was an odd sensation, feeling so grateful for simple things like a fresh drawn bath and clean garments. Sansa couldn’t recall how long it had been since she had felt like a proper lady. She did not enjoy it though, still haunted by the events to come later that day. A meeting with Tywin Lannister where he would decide her fate was nothing to be celebrated.  
  
Sansa had been guided by Jaime to the throne room. With each step her heart pounded more loudly in her ears. Fear swept through her as they made it to the entrance, tall, twin wooden doors framed by bolts and metal. With his good hand, Jaime pushed on both doors, they opened with an audible ‘ ** _creak_** ’. At once, Sansa had become acutely aware of every nerve in her body. Her body was weak and ached from fatigue.  
  
Jaime was the first to pass through the threshold. One hesitant moment later, Sansa followed after. She made her way forward, into the center of the room. Never before had the hall been racked with such deafening silence. Her breathe hitched, she was certain the onlookers heard.  
  
_They can hear everything-my fear- my heart bursting from my chest and the air that threatens to chokes me. I mustn’t cry… please.  
_  
The tears were there but she would not let them see. Blue eyes focused intently at the stone under her feet. When Sansa reached the centre she halted, only feet from the steps that lead up to the Iron throne. She curtseyed as politely as her body would allow. _  
  
_ The weight of a thousand eyes fell on her. She keep her gaze low, feeling the presence of others in attendance she but she didn’t dare look to see their faces. She didn’t need to see the man, his presence loomed over her. A dreadful-thickening presence.  
  
“My Lord Hand.” Sansa spoke meekly, swallowing a stone in her throat. She threaded her hands together at her waist, in hopes to cease the nervous tremor.  
  
“Lady Stark.” Although he spoke in a low tone, his voice boomed over the silent crowd. “You are looking well child, you must be strong willed to endure the cells below the castle.”  
  
_Was that meant to be another cruel jape?  
  
_ “I believe when being spoken to, it is polite and proper to acknowledge those speaking to you.” He scolded her now, “Especially in the presence of the court.”  
  
Heat touched her cheeks and blue slowly crept up from the floor. Up to the edge of the stairs… past them now counting each step, _four… five…_ Her gaze reached the Dias now, leading to the chair crafted from melted steel. Finally, to the cold green pools – They were just as frightening as Sansa remembered, pensive and cruel. Worse now, as she feared, once their eyes met, green devoured her.  
  
With her eyes forward, she took in the others in attendance. She wasn’t sure when Jaime had left her, but he stood uncomfortably beside his father. Joined by his sister and twin, sitting on the plush bench. Where she expected to see delight in Cersei’s expression, instead there was aggravation.  
A small crowd was circled around her in a half crescent. On the left stood men of the Kings Guard. To the right, members of the council; a shaky Maester Pycell, Varys the master of whispers and Mace Tyrell. Though next to Lord Tyrell, there was a presence that surprised her. A stubborn flicker of silver pinned to the collar of his doublet. Nearest to her stood Lord Baelish.  
  
_He’d left for the Eyrie before the wedding. Why is he here?  
  
_ She dared not to look away from the man perched on the throne before her.  
  
“Now that’s better. Do you know why you’re here?”  
  
Sansa shook her head, “No…” It was a lie – she knew it as well as every other member present.  
  
“You are here so that we may put an end to this matter.” He continued in a tone void of any emotion. “I will ask this once more – after the matter will be laid to rest and never mentioned again.”  
Cersei sucked at her teeth in annoyance.  
  
He spoke louder, over his daughter’s gesture of disapproval, “Did you have a role or prior knowledge in the murder of King Joffrey Baratheon? Swear on it if you must by whatever God or Gods please you – but in front of this court and realm - you will speak the truth now.”  
  
The air in her lungs tightened, _They want me to confirm what the imp has already told them. It’s not true –  he played you a fool … and me.  
  
_ “No my Lord Hand, even if I had known I would not have assisted and brought the matter straight to his grace and counsel.”  
  
It appeared again, something stirred within Tywin’s eyes, gold. It was faint and gone just seconds after but he was not fast enough to conceal it. Amusement. Sansa would have been angry had she not have been so scared. He was toying with her. The cat pawing and batting around a frightened mouse that had wondered into his domain. Baiting and biding his time until making the final strike.  
  
“Very well.” He barked, “It is done.”  
  
_Here it comes… This will be the moment he calls forth Ser Illyne Payne to take my head_ She prayed to keep the tears from view and hidden.  
  
He motioned a hand toward the members of the council, “Lord Baelish.”  
  
_– or worse.  
  
_ Had it been possible, Sansa would have believed her heart were to burst from her chest at any moment. It knocked relentlessly in her chest. She heard the footsteps draw near her and tore her gaze from Tywin to take in the man pacing near her.    
  
Petyr Baelish looked just as pristine as the last time she had seen him. Always groomed and laced in his fresh unwrinkled wardrobe. As he stepped closer their eyes locked just for a moment. He gave her a genial smile, Sansa watched as it stopped before his grey green eyes.  
  
In one smooth motion, he turned on his heel to face the throne.  
  
“My Lord Lannister, Hand of the King.” Petyr bowed low, sweeping a hand to his waist. Then rising slowly, to meet the gaze of Tywin. For half a heartbeat, Sansa felt as though the grey-green clashed violently with green-gold. She imagined it, she told herself – but still couldn’t shake the sense of sudden tension about the room.  
  
Sansa stared at him then back to the Dias. A second passed, then another before Sansa grasped the intent of Littlefinger’s presence here, now. Cersei was smiling now, a smugness was there that told Sansa everything. She tried to swallow the sudden bulge in her throat but it was useless.  
  
Sansa watched the words leave Tywin’s mouth but there was only silence. She felt her legs were to buckle under her any second. A gentle hand came for her wrist, then an arm linked itself around hers. A soft voice spoke to her but she couldn’t make out the words.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you have enjoyed the first chatper - Thank you. :)


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